The Part They Should Have Shown
by DrTaylor
Summary: Data should have had a funeral. I blame Rick Berman for his lack thereof, because I blame him for everything. Despite that, I'm not trying to steal from anyone either, I'm just trying to set things right.


I threw a party.

It was only fair, after all.

Twelve years ago, when Ro and I "died," he planned my funeral. He spent lots of time on it too, and I spent three days dying to see what he'd come up with. It ended up being a big party, with a jazz band and lots of food. A celebration of life, a chance to remember all the things you're supposed to remember.

Probably a chance for everyone to bitch about how much they were going to miss us, although Data would never have put it in those terms. But he would have thought something similar.

At first, when the Captain asked me to take this responsibility, I wanted to refuse. Then I realized, he would have done it for me. Gladly. And not just for the experience, but because he was my friend, and he would feel it was his duty.

So I planned the same funeral he planned for me. The details were still in his personal logs. The only thing that wasn't there was whatever he was going to say about me, which is too bad, because I would have loved to turn it around on him, get some revenge.

It's possible that I'm a little mad at Data for blowing himself up like that.

Wes came back aboard the day before. We were on our way to Earth, limping along at Warp Two. It could have been faster, but I felt more like planning this funeral than fixing the engines alone right then. Data and I had just refurbished them a week ago, and now they were all wrecked, and it had to be done over.

A lot of people made it aboard for the service. Those who couldn't be there at least listened in to the speaking part over subspace. Julian Bashir from Deep Space Nine, Admiral Quinn, Kate Pulaski, Ardy McKenzie even. Alexander Rozhenko sent a clay sculpture of a treble clef that sent Deanna into hysterical laughter and then tears. Bruce Maddox sent a copy of every letter he ever received from Data to every member of the command staff of the _Enterprise_. Ro Laren sent a message from Auckland, where she is being held. Reg Barclay shuttled out from Earth on one of those reserved Warp 9 shuttles – he's gotten pretty influential ever since he made contact with _Voyager_. Admiral McCoy shuttled in with him. In memory of Data's tendency for forgiveness, I refrained from smashing my fist into the wall when Ed Jellico called the Captain to offer his condolences.

People had a habit of being fascinated by Data. A lot.

The service itself is a long, drawn out thing. I wouldn't have made it like that, but it seems like everyone had a memory to share, and I didn't have the heart to turn anyone down. After all, we were all his family.

"I couldn't remember," said Will Riker, "what the song was. Not for days. And then suddenly, I remembered. It was 'Pop Goes the Weasel.'"

I can see that, in my mind's eye. Data, trying to whistle. He never did get it right.

"He was delighted when I told him I wanted him to attend weekly counseling sessions," said Deanna.

The laugh dies in my throat, but it's still there. Counseling sessions. He would have loved that. I never knew he had them, but it makes sense.

"That water was so cold," added Beverly. " I can't believe that the Holodeck could have such cold water."

It _was_ cold. And he looked so lost.

"When he was in command while the Captain and Commander Riker were held hostage," said Worf, "he stood up to me and my…erroneous lack of respect for his authority. It took…guts."

Data had more guts than any of us.

"He relied on me for help, even though I was so much younger," Wes told us.

He relied on all of us. He felt we all had something to teach him.

The Captain stood up. Funny, he was just speaking at the wedding. Now it's a week later, and it's a funeral. "Fifteen years ago," he said, "we lost one of our own. Tasha was a good friend of Data's, and I know that through the years, he has missed her, as have we all. Of all the things I could say at this occasion, the most appropriate would be the words that Tasha is not here with us to say, the message she left for Data at her own funeral. 'You see things with the wonder of a child, and that makes you more human than any of us.'" He sits down.

Data was human. We all knew it but him.

It's my turn now, and I don't have anything prepared. God knows, I tried.

"Data," I begin, "was the best friend anyone could ask for. He was thoughtful, and he was brave, and he was loyal to a fault. Each of us has learned great things about ourselves just by watching him and listening to him.

"I have plenty of stories I could tell you. I could tell you about the way he acted like a teenager for two weeks after getting his emotion chip, or about the time he walked two kilometers over the bottom of a lake because he 'forgot' he couldn't swim. I still remember that horrible joke about the kiddilies. But we already know a thousand stories about Data, and it won't help to hear more.

"Someone once told Data, 'There are creatures in the universe who would consider you the ultimate achievement…No feelings, no emotions, no pain. And yet you covet those qualities of humanity. Believe me, you are not missing anything. But if it means anything to you, Data…you are a better human than I.'

"Data," I tell my friend, "you may not have understood that at the time, but I think you understand it now. The thing that makes a human truly alive is our freedom of choice – the fact that even with all our primal desires to save ourselves, we can give it up to save another. You did that many times, and you always came out of it alive, and you always believed afterwards that you were somehow less than human, even though you showed qualities that are only found in the best of us. But believe me when I tell you, each time you put your existence on the line for another, you were the embodiment of humanity. And I hope that at this moment, you can see for yourself that your final act was the most human act of all."

Ocular implants don't play tricks, which is why I completely believe my eyes when I see a man – who looks exactly like a human version of my friend – fade away from the back of the room, a sad smile on his face.


End file.
